


Devotion

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Bisexual Character, Bisexuality, Implied Sexual Content, Multi, Relationship Discussions, Threesome - F/M/M, Trust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:38:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5952322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phryne’s anger at being repeatedly stood up by a pair of gentlemen becomes compassion once she understands the cause.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Devotion

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RakishAngle (afterdinnerminx)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterdinnerminx/gifts).



> For the prompt: “Sorry about the mess.” (Phryne/Bert/Cec) As per usual, this was a request, so if it’s not to your tastes and you’d rather skip it, that’s perfectly fine. 
> 
> Takes place **very** early in S1, before Phryne/Jack is even potentially a thing. 
> 
> References the events of [Dirty Faces](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5363399/chapters/12386207) very obliquely, but it otherwise an unrelated standalone. 
> 
> So, this was supposed to be a full-on graphically depicted sexual encounter, but… it wasn’t working. This initial bit, if you will forgive the pun, was where the thrust of the story was. So I cut it short. …I like it better this way, actually.

_“My true friends have always given me that supreme proof of devotion.”  
\- Colette,  Break of Day (1928)_

Phryne sprawled on her chaise lounge and sipped a cocktail. Her clothing was lush and comfortable, though not her usual luxuriant choice for an assignation, and her face wore an expression of severe annoyance. Her gentleman callers were late again. This was the third time she had arranged her household affairs so that Dot would have the evening and the next morning off, and Mr. Butler was newly sworn to secrecy regarding the identities of her callers. The first two times, the men in question had arrived late and deplorably drunk. She was expecting it to happen again, despite her warnings to the contrary.

If they had been any other men, she would have canceled the engagement and all further occurrences after the first incident. But she was rather fond of these men, and suspected that there was more at the base of their negligence than simple carelessness. 

A small knock at the door of the parlour and an apologetic cough broke into her thoughts. “Forgive me for disturbing you, Miss Fisher,” said Mr. Butler, “but Mr. Yates and Mr. Johnson have arrived.”

“About time,” Phryne said dryly. “Are they fit to be seen?”

Mr. Butler hesitated. “Not especially, Miss. I’m afraid they’ve been at the grog.”

Phryne groaned. “Again?” She rolled her eyes and tossed back the rest of her cocktail. “Well, get them into the spare servants’ room, Mr. Butler. They’ll have to sleep it off. And in the morning,” she added meaningfully, “I am going to have a _talk_ with those young men.”

“Very good, Miss,” said Mr. Butler, very properly, and went to wrestle the two inebriated cabbies into the spare room beside his own. 

Both he and Phryne slept badly that night, and Phryne was downstairs in the kitchen, wrapped in her favorite black satin dressing gown, cautiously poking at the coffee pot, when Mr. Butler rose. “Good morning, Miss,” he greeted her, stifling a yawn.

“Morning,” she sighed, and gladly relinquished the percolator to him. “Sounds like they had as bad a night as we did.”

“Worse, if possible.”

Phryne frowned. “Why, did they get sick?”

“No, Miss, but... well, they did come here with expectations last night, and...” Her butler coughed delicately. “If Mr. Yates and Mr. Johnson will be lodging with us in the future, it might be wise to have some jars of liniment on hand in the spare room, or petroleum jelly.” Phryne’s eyebrows went up. “For dry skin, of course, Miss.”

“Of course.” Phryne smiled sympathetically and accepted the cup of black coffee he handed her. “You are the most forbearing of men, Mr. Butler.”

“Ah, well, Miss, it’s not my place to pass judgment. And I knew quite a few young men of that sort when I was in the AIF.” He set the pot carefully in the center of the burner. “They ended up in front of a firing squad, Miss. And for not much, in my opinion.”

Phryne sipped the scalding black brew thoughtfully. “I knew some young men like that, too.”

“Shall I begin preparing breakfast now, Miss Fisher?”

“...No, I think not. I think I can manage toast for myself, and perhaps for Bert and Cec, if they’re _very_ contrite.” Phryne gestured to the tin where Mr. Butler kept the housekeeping money. “Go fetch Dot from her mother’s house and take her to the carnival. Or shopping. Or chaperone her and Constable Collins somewhere. I need the house to myself today.”

“Of course, Miss.” Mr. Butler fetched his bowler and took a few notes from the tin. “If I might be so bold, Miss Fisher... good luck.”

He tipped his hat to her and went out the back door. 

“I make my own luck, Mr. B,” she murmured, sipping her coffee. “But those two red raggers will need all the luck they can get. “

She sat at the kitchen table for another hour or so, sipping powerful black coffee and munching on slightly burned toast with lashings of butter and jam, turning over a newspaper without much interest. Her mind was otherwise occupied. 

But she looked up with narrowed eyes when Bert and Cec came shuffling into the kitchen, from the house’s servants’ quarters. Their eyes were sunken and bloodshot and their hair was as tame as hands and water could make it, and they moved very carefully towards the table, especially Cec. “Mornin’, Miss,” he muttered, sounding abashed. 

“Good _morning_ , gentlemen,” Phryne drawled, in the most polite of tones. She didn’t deploy the posh accent at them; even hungover, they weren’t likely to stand for that. But she was far more dangerous when she was polite than when she was angry, and they knew it. “Coffee?”

“Uh... yes, please.” 

Phryne gestured for them to sit. They glanced at one another and then quietly took chairs; Cec was moving very gingerly, and only perched on the edge of his chair. She poured the coffee, pushed the plate of toast towards them, and then plunked her elbows on the table. “Now then," she said brightly, “just what the hell do you two mean by standing me up again?”

Bert wrapped his hands around his coffee cup and looked furtive. “Well, Miss, we... I don’t want ya t’ think that we ain’t interested—”

“I was beginning to wonder,” said Phryne dryly. “Especially as you and I have enjoyed some very pleasant evenings together, recently.”

“Y-yes, Miss,” Bert coughed, his cheekbones beginning to pink. 

“So when you asked me if I’d be willing to entertain both you and Cec of an evening, _I_ thought, ‘Oh! That ought to be fun!’ So.” Phryne rested her chin on her folded hands and speared them both with a glittering green gaze. “What’s the trouble? Cec, dear, are you not interested?”

“It ain't that, Miss,” he said quietly, “I... it’s been a while fer me, but I reckon you an’ me could have some fun t’gether.” His dark eyes were abashed but appreciative of her slight dishabille. “Just... we ain’t been sure if it’d be a good idea for me an’ Bert t’... well... have a go at the same lady. It’s kinda...” He scrunched his face up and looked at his mate, unable or unwilling to say the words. 

“Me an’ Cec, being in th’ same bed, it ain’t a good idea,” Bert said, his words quick and gruff, with an edge of fearfulness. “Not sure if it’d go right.”

“Why? Because you two are lovers?” They stared at her with wide eyes. Cec looked confused and dismayed; Bert looked terrified. Phryne smiled gently. “You weren’t exactly quiet last night, you know.”

Bert frowned for a second or two, then flushed beet-red. Cec dropped his head into his hands. 

“It doesn’t bother me,” Phryne assured them. “Knowing what I do of your history together, I can’t say I’m surprised. Although I’m very relieved that you’ve managed to hide it as long as you have.”

“Didn’t happen til after the Armistice,” Bert muttered. “We were in Paris... nobody was payin’ much attention to a couple’a ANZACS fuckin’ around. Got, ah...” He gulped and somehow turned even redder. “There was this one French tart who’d give us a discount, if we’d let her watch Cec suck me off.”

Phryne’s pale pink lips curled into a sultry smile. “I won’t lie, Bert. I’d pay to see that.”

In spite of his red face, Bert grinned at that. Cec’s smile was more bashful, but there was a heat in his eyes that was very pleasant to see. “No charge, Miss.”

She sipped her coffee and considered them over the gold-chased rim of her cup. “So is that why you had to make a stop at the pub before you came here last night, and on the last two occasions?”

Bert nodded. “And closed out the place. We were tryin’a get up our nerve a little. We... we want this, Miss. But every time we thought about it...”

“You ran scared.”

“Bloody scared out of our wits,” Cec agreed. “But... now that you know, Miss, and... as it doesn’t bother you, will you give us another chance?” He had deep brown eyes that telegraphed all of his emotions very clearly, and it was plainly obvious to Phryne that he both wanted her and wanted to make up to her for his rudeness. “I know you an’ Bert’ve been havin’ a bit of a fling, an’ I don’t wanna break that up, but... if the invitation’s still open, could we come by some other night?”

“Oh no, I’m not taking _any_ chances,” said Phryne firmly. She watched the boys’ faces fall, and then favoured them with a naughty smile. “I’m not waiting for ‘some other night.’ Finish your breakfast, you two, and then: upstairs.” She rose from the table and strolled from the kitchen, untying her robe as she went and letting it drop just as she crossed the threshold into the dining room. 

Behind her, Phryne heard the two men wolfing down their coffee and toast and scrambling to follow her. “Blimey,” she heard Cec breathe reverently as she mounted the stairs. “Bert, she’s like a paintin’.”

“She’s a damn sight more fun than any ol’ painting,” Bert replied, with a hint of pride. “G’wan, head up after her.”

“Me? Nah, mate, you go. You’ve been up there before.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Are you two coming?” Phryne asked them, glancing over her bare shoulder. “Or do I have to take care of myself again?”

Bert and Cec looked at one another for a moment and then went up the stairs together. 

Cec paused a second or two at the door of her bedroom, taking everything in. His eyes roamed round much as Bert’s had, the first night she had brought him properly to her bed, before coming to rest on Phryne’s naked form. His dark eyes were warm and kind, with only the slightest bit of heat to indicate that he was aroused. Phryne smiled and held out her hand. 

“You sure about this, Miss?” Cec asked again, letting him draw her into her arms. “You don’t hafta do this t’ oblige me...”

Phryne rolled her lips against a smile and a salty reply, but Bert beat her to it. “Ya ever known Miss Fisher t’ do anythin’ t’ oblige anybody she didn’t feel like obliging?” he demanded of his partner, grinning as he stripped off his boots and socks and draped his waistcoat over the clothes rack. 

Cec laughed softly. “I guess ‘e’s got a point. So, Miss. How d’you wanna start?”

She ran her fingers through his dark hair. “A kiss is always a good beginning,” she murmured, pulling him down. His lips were smooth and hesitant, letting her choose how fast and how far to go. He tasted like coffee and strawberry jam, with a hint of last night’s stale beer lingering in the background. Not an especially pleasant first impression, but after a moment Phryne felt his hands come to rest on her shoulders and he deepened the kiss, and his own natural male flavour overwhelmed the surface tastes, a vast improvement, in her opinion. “Mmm...” she hummed, very content. 

“Good, Miss? Feels good so far?”

“Very good…

Cec was proving to be as gentle and courteous as she had anticipated, while Bert, who knew her better, she could count on to be more assertive and cheeky. There was a joy in the contrasting of them; physically and vocally different, dissimilar but in-tune. But the physical sensations of this sort of lovemaking were second to Phryne. It had been too long since she had taken two lovers at once, let alone two men she trusted so implicitly.

Bert stepped behind her and pressed his chest to her back. He had stopped to take off his shirt as well. He was warm against her cool skin, and the denim fly of his trousers was slightly rough against her backside, over his growing erection. Phryne hummed more loudly into Cec’s mouth and pushed back slightly, grinding against Bert’s cock. He put his hands on her hips and pressed closer, which was what she wanted. 

“This,” she said, smiling in between Cec’s kisses, which were growing more confident and more eager, “this is why I wanted you both.”

“So you could be th’ filling in a sandwich?” Bert teased, brushing aside her hair to kiss the nape of her neck.

“ _No_ ,” she retorted, bumping him with her arse. He ground back a bit and got a moan out of her. “No, it’s not that at all... I wouldn’t agree to do this with just any random pair of blokes, you know.”

“We know, Miss,” Cec murmured, venturing to touch her breasts. 

Bert wrapped his arms around her waist and, for a moment, just held her. “We know.”


End file.
